The Life of Judas Henderson
by Kamide
Summary: Well, this is my story. Nice to meet you. I’m Judas Henderson, although to everyone else my well-used alias is Jace. My life has been basically hell up until that point where I was accepted into the Orphanage for Gifted Children known as Wammy’s House.
1. Chapter 1

Well, this is my story. Nice to meet you. I'm Judas Henderson, although to everyone else my well-used alias is Jace. My life has been basically hell up until that point where I was accepted into the Orphanage for Gifted Children known as The Wammy's House. My father was a drunk good for nothing out of work wife and child beater, my mother a prostitute who often brought her 'clients' home and had violent intercourse with them, and as for my sister...well, I'm not comfortable talking about her yet, but let's just say she was a sweet kid. She was the kind of person who made a positive impression on everyone she met, regardless of age, and was so...just, wonderful, I guess.

There ain't any good words that would describe her, as far as I know. Oh, and by the way, if you have a problem with me using the word ain't, then don't talk to me. My grammar is certainly less than perfect, and my language has stubbornly survived through repeated attempts at correction. I guess they tried so hard to make me speak 'proper' English so I would have a better chance at fitting in with society. So much for that, since society doesn't generally get along with my kind. Y'know what kind that is, right? Well, in case you don't, lemme explain.

See, I'm a genius, and yes it's still surprising to me as well, and not just because of my atrocious grammar skills. With the background I had, it's surprising such losers produced a highly intelligent son and a, while not as smart as me, daughter with a divine personality. I'll try and avoid the whole parent-bashing thing, since I know it's not going to help anyone, least of all me, if I call them names.

Anyways, society doesn't accept, usually, people who are highly intelligent let alone having an eidetic memory as well. Oh, right, guess I didn't mention that. Yeah, I'm a genius with an eidetic memory. That doesn't make me perfect, though. My social skills suck, the main reason I don't really get along with anyone, save for her my sister. Which kind of leads me to my next point-out of all Wammy's male students, none of us really get along, and even now we're older.

For example, Mello hates Near. Mello cannot be around Near unless it's to insult him, attack him, or throw something at Near-which is what Mello does occasionally in class. I've witnessed their one-sided interactions with puzzlement, since I don't really understand why Mel wants to be number one. L. L was the greatest detective all of the students of the orphanage aspired to be. The top three students were, in order from one to five, Near, Mello, Me, Grace, and Isabella.

I've been told by L himself that if I tried harder and acknowledged my full potential, I could easily beat Mello and Near both. I could steal Near's position and push Mello back down to third. When I shrugged noncommittally, not really interested in L's position thanks to my lazy demeanor, he asked me why I didn't want to become L. Why I wasn't like the others...why I didn't have Mello's drive and determination.

Back then, my answer had been something like 'I'm lazy, being L is alot of work and responsibility, and I've noticed angering Mello is a bad idea. I'd rather not get jumped for being smart, y'know, L?' The greatest detective stared at me curiously before simply saying 'I see. Very well, you may go, Jace.' Now, however, as I reflected back on my previous life, I too wondered why I hadn't been more ambitious, although it was too late to give L a better answer.

After all, L is dead. That's the original L, by the way, and not L's successor. L died as a casualty of the Kira investigation, the investigation that broke Mello and made Near. Simply put, Near and Mello investigated the Kira case at the same time, each wanting to prove his superiority to the other. Mello, if he were alive that is, would fervently deny the fact he had been helping Near while helping himself as well, but the truth is Mello's a liar.

I can say that with certainty since Near told me all the facts of the Kira Investigation after it had happened. The main reason for that is probably because I was third, and Near wanted to give me a reward for it. Idunno. I'm not Near, after all, and I don't ever want to be him.

Tha'd be extremely creepy, wanting to be someone who wore nothing but white pyjamas and played with toys. Not that I have any right to pass judgement on Near. For one, I ain't god, and two I have my own weird obsession with video games.

You may laugh, yes, but I don't give a damn. All geniuses, not just the ones from Wammy's, have weird quirks. It's a proven fact. If you don't believe me, although it's not like I really care if you do or not, just look at Napoleon. While he may not be a genius, his intellect was significantly higher than average, but he was abysmally short and was probably mocked for it. Mahatma Gandhi, too, may have been mocked as a peace-loving fruitcake, but that didn't diminish his greatness or his obvious intellect in overthrowing the British Raj.

I ramble alot, I know, and even though you probably could care less about my personal opinion, I'm probably going to keep rambling anyway. It's my story, not yours, so if you don't like it then why are you reading this? Seriously? What Gives? I don't care for people who are judgemental nit-pickers. In my opinion, they can change or just become hermits, but not everyone would agree with me on that.

I'm rather black and white, so don't take my opinions and start using them as a reason to kill people, or something equally unpleasant. That would bother me, and not only because I work for the current greatest detective on the planet known as Earth. The second reason, and perhaps more significant to me, is the fact that it's my philosophy and I don't want people abusing what belongs to me.

If that were to happen, I'd probably do my best to hunt the person down and talk some sense into them. Just because I am more intelligent than the vast majority of people living at this point in time doesn't mean I am flawless deity. Far from it, I am just as human as someone who is considered legally retarded for having a low IQ number.

I've got my own problems to worry about, though, and not sparing the feelings of people of inferior intellect. As I said before, although it bears repeating again for good measure, I don't get along with people. My social skills are lacking, to put it in polite perspectives if you wanted to spare a sensitive person's feelings. I, however, am not sensitive and therefore don't mind saying I'm classified by society as a Social Retard.

I cannot relate to people, and I often say the wrong thing which earns me a glare, disapproving silence, anger, or fighting. The last one I don't get very often, since society encourages people to develop self-control and be conformed little sheep of the flock of humanity, and therefore not attack people, but fighting has never been a problem for me. Defending myself is something I'm an adept on, and I've never stopped practicing martial arts.

Even now, though I don't frequent the mats as often as I used to in my younger days, I still manage to practice as least once a week. If my schedule allowed it, I would go more often, but the opportunity didn't show its face that often. Usually I was stuck at home, giving assistance not only to near but organizations such as Interpol, the Federal Bureau of Intelligence, the Central Intelligence Agency, as well as **CSIS**, just to name a few major ones.

The previously mentioned organizations weren't the only ones I provided assistance when requested to. I also have been summoned to Japan at the request of the National Police Force several times in the recent past. *sigh* Let me guess, you want to know why I was welcomed at Wammy's, and perhaps my previous life before then? I, Judas Henderson alias Jace, probably won't say anything about that unless it's of my own volition.

My previous life was unpleasant, to say the least, and the only good thing about that time was her my sister. She helped me alot, y'know, with dealing with the losing hand we'd been dealt in life, and had been the only person –well at least for my first ten years of life, although I personally would substitute the word life with hell, until I encountered Wammy and L- to acknowledge my higher than average intelligence, as well as my eidetic memory.

Anyways, I procrastinate...the point is, I refuse to reveal facts about my past if you specifically ask, but apparently I don't mind bringing the subject up myself. Hmm, that actually sounds messed up, but oh well. I guess I'm a messed up person at least on the inside anyway.

On the outside, I assume I look decently normal. Since I haven't given you an idea of what my appearance is like, even though the prospect of doing so looks to be incredibly boring and dry, it's my gift to you, but don't expect my handouts very often. I'm quite stingy about helping people, at least when I'm not working on a case, but anyways back to my appearance.

My hair is long in the back and sides, and shorter in the front, but covers my forehead enough to occasionally irritate me when it gets in my eyes-or at least in front of it anyway. Did I mention it's a very reddish brown? Not quite the shade of fire, or blood for that matter, but you get the idea, I'm sure. Anyways, it's different enough in every known culture to make people avoid me, or in the right social environment, I've had people walk by me making the 'ward off evil' sign with their hands.

It's probably for the best that people's reactions long ago ceased to bother me in any way considering the number of times I've been shied away from and screamed at. That's the main reason I don't go out in public if I can avoid it...I don't mind the reactions, but it's not like I chose to look different from other people, and also I like to remain anonymous, which, for the record, is annoyingly impossible mostly due to my red locks.

Moving on, or at least further down on my features, I do actually like the shade of eyes I'd been given. They're kind of like a bronze or at least a hazel if you're so inclined, which is a rare enough color but at least I don't get screamed at for having bronze-ish irises. My facial shape is rather boyish, but there are definitely traces of masculinity on me.

In short, I am clearly male although the same couldn't be said for Mello. That's right; you could interpret what I just said as an insult to Mello if you wish. I, however, could care less about your reaction. Coming from me, saying Mello looks feminine is a statement of fact, not a verbal stab at his character. I cannot actually say I cared for Mello all that much, mostly because he was absolutely obsessed by his desire to beat Near and be Number One, but what I think of Mello doesn't really matter, now that he's dead.

Although I am tall, six feet even to be precise, I'm lean and I look weak although I'm not, I don't exceed one hundred and fifty pounds. I have lots of scars on my body, and even though I cover them when foundation when I'm not in a hurry.

It isn't like I am ashamed of having the scars, since I got them from protecting her my sister from our father's inebriated wrath, but my physical appearance unsettles people enough that I don't like to add to their obvious repulsion at sharing my company with scars.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

The only possession I retained from my childhood, even though I didn't consider it as much of a childhood, was a pair of blue goggles. They weren't mine, and I didn't have permission to have them, but they had belonged to her before she died, so I figured I'd hang on to them.

The goggles themselves were worthless, but what they symbolized was what mattered. Since they were her only real possession of her very own, and she wore them constantly, proud to have something of her very own, it made sense for me to believe a remnant of her soul was still lingering on the goggles. Not that I really believe it is, but sometimes it's nice to pretend, just so long as you know it's pretending, and not actually real.

If you're religious, like I am...wait. You didn't know I was actually a somewhat follower of Catholicism? Well, the truth is, I've never actually been baptized by a Pastor, but I used to go to church occasionally with her. Her and I, we usually sat at the back of the rows of pews, mostly to escape attention, and we also were the first to leave.

After her death, though, I stopped going to the local Catholic Church. I was disillusioned with the whole matter of a higher power watching over us. Mostly 'cus I decided if there was actually a God, as the church taught, why would he let someone like her die? I had a hard time accepting that death had actually touched her life, and it drove me away from religion for a while.

After a while, when I had actually come to terms with her dying on me, I swiped a cross necklace from a store. I don't remember what the store was, but I remember I used to feel guilty about stealing it, even though the reason was somewhat reasonable. Maybe the guilt was a sign from God telling me to change my ways, but I was almost caught by one of the store employees. Fortunately for me, however, I escaped because the guy was out of shape, and I was used to the harsh reality of living on the streets.

If you lived on the streets, you had to conform to the hard lifestyle you'd either chosen or been forced into, as I was. I was young at that point of my life, about eleven years old if I remember correctly, which I'm not sure about, so I guess it doesn't really matter how old I was. It wasn't like I had anything to remember my birthdays by-they were just as unpleasant as all the other days of the year.

She used to feel guilty about not having anything to commemorate a day that apparently should have belonged to me alone, but I reassured her by saying I'd been blessed with her presence. Before you accuse me of a white lie, I'll admit it was true. Her presence had been the one thing, at least while she was alive, that stopped me from taking my own life to spare myself from the misery of living with the people I was unfortunate to have as parents.

When she was gone, however, I seriously considered just killing myself. That may be something you don't wish to hear coming from anyone, but that's your problem. I don't care if you pretend life is all laughter and pretty unicorns and beautiful princesses. I guess that's how it was for the kids who got off lucky and were dealt a winning hand, but that wasn't my life, so therefore I couldn't imagine it.

I guess I could say I even scorn the thought of having a happy childhood or being a happy child. In my world, it was an alien concept, not just to me, but her as well. What stopped me from killing myself was the fact that she wouldn't have wanted me to claim my life. If she had lived to be an adult, or even a teenager, I would bet anything her life would consist of volunteering at the local Salvation Army, saving animals from the streets, and helping out her neighbours as well as random strangers she didn't even know.

That's the best I can do to describe her personality, which in my opinion is absolutely divine even though religious people would consider describing a human as godly sacrilegious, but that doesn't even come close to what she was really like. She was beyond words, I know that much even though I've attempted to describe her to you several times already.

When she died, I was literally all alone in the world and didn't have anyone besides myself to turn to or rely on. I sure as hell wouldn't even consider going back to that house where they lived. I'd left for a good reason, and even if it killed me, I wasn't ever going back there without a fight.

Even if I had been caught by the cops, and was sent back to my old house, I'd just run away again as soon as humanly possible. This next occurrence may have been preordained fate, but I was too ignorant and uneducated at that point to really know what fate was, although I knew meeting L opened up numerous opportunities for me to fulfill and that's what drew me towards it. The meeting was by accident, I'm pretty sure, but that didn't lessen the impact of it.

After getting away so many times, I'd gotten over confident and was caught shoplifting. I would have run for it, but the store's employee who caught me clearly wasn't going to let go of my arm no matter how many times I demanded to be released. Anyways, when the cops came they recognized me from security cameras. Being young and foolish, I was proud for being famous, even though the reason was less than great.

I was taken to the local police station, and I will admit this spooked me a great deal, although I hid it from the cop who escorted me. The guy, who seemed to sympathize with a young street kid, told me to call him Jacob, even though I knew I`d never actually consider the relationship between us to allow for first names.

I was suspicious about what he wanted to gain by giving me permission to call him Jacob, and the only conclusion I could come up with that was reasonable was he expected me to tell him my name, even though he didn`t say anything. I knew it would be stupid to reveal my name to anyone, let alone a stranger, so I didn`t give him any information about me or my background. In the car ride to the station, the silence clearly bothered him but that pleased me, although I look back on that particular memory with disdain. I don`t know why I was such a prick back then, but I believe that the main reason would be because I was bitter about the garbage hand I`d hand to live with and was lashing out to alleviate my frustration.

It`s not like it helped any, though, and when I acknowledged my growing hateful bitterness, I calmed down alot. I admit it did take a few years to grow past the injustice I`d suffered by them, but I eventually did it. When we got to the station, we met –in the weirdest sense of the word- a black limousine.

The fancy vehicle fascinated me, since I was aware that important and rich people were the ones who rode in limousines, and I was curious to know who rode in the back. I lost all interest in the officer driving the car beside me, and instead pressed my face against the window to stare unashamedly at the black vehicle.

After all, it wasn`t every day you saw one of them driving around, let alone to a police station. Vaguely, although I cannot be sure about this, but my young mind speculated about who was in the car. My first guess was the queen, strangely enough, but afterwards I knew it wouldn`t be her majesty.

What reason would royalty have for visiting Winchester`s police station? My deduction skills were excellent, but I couldn't imagine a logical reason for the country's political head to be here of all places.


End file.
